The Moment, No. 4

Answering the call

How a dream became a future

There are only so many things a man can do while hoping for a phone call that will change his life. On the final Friday night in April, Derrick Kindred loses himself in darts. He’s inside a garage at a friend’s house, mechanically taking on all comers at a hastily put-together NFL draft party in his honor.

Opponents at the dartboard come from among the two dozen well-wishers -– mother, father, girlfriend, siblings, uncles, aunts, cousins, friends -– hoping to celebrate should the 22-year-old guest of honor be invited to join an NFL team. Not giving an inch, the competitive Kindred, victorious in game after game, is wearing a path between the toe-line and the board eight feet away: Aim. Throw. Walk. Tally. Yank. Return to line. Repeat. Back and forth like a metronome. In a corner off to the left, a 32-inch flat screen television is tuned to the draft. On this, the second night, the NFL’s 32 teams will select 68 players in rounds two and three.

Kindred hopes to be one of them but pays the TV no mind.

A 5-10, 210-pound safety who starred at Texas Christian University, Kindred knows he’s a long shot to be selected so early. He had been projected as a pick on Saturday, the final day of the draft, when rounds four through seven take place. Or, as his agent cautioned, he might not be chosen at all.

But earlier, back in Dallas, agent Scott Casterline, with 33 years in the business, picked up a snippet of draft intelligence: Maybe, possibly, perhaps the Cleveland Browns, who have amassed four of the evening’s picks, might take an early flyer on Kindred. The Browns have been tracking Kindred. They’ve monitored his ascent: Despite playing the past season with a fractured collarbone, Kindred was a first-team All-Big 12 selection. He improved his draft status with his performances at the February NFL combine and March Pro Day at TCU.

Vernon Bryant | Staff Photographer

Should he be drafted this night, he knows his cellphone will bring the first word. It will be either Casterline’s familiar gravelly tone or a strange voice from his new employer.

Answering the phone in his pants pocket is the only interruption to darts he allows. As usual, he keeps the phone on silent. Several times when the phone vibrates, Kindred tears away from darts, hustles off into a private area in hopes his future has been decided. Always he returns without comment.

That’s not surprising. Kindred may be the quietest of the hundreds of clients Casterline has worked with. “Most of ours speak when they have something to say,” the agent says. “Derrick sometimes skips even that formality.”

Finally, dinner is served in the kitchen. Everyone drifts inside. Kindred, hungry only for news, is among the last to succumb to the lure of chicken wings.

At 10:30 p.m., 3 ½ hours after the start of the draft, the Browns make their fourth and final pick. It’s not Kindred. The party breaks up, the friends and relatives begin to head home.

“This kid is hungry,” John Warren, the retired Army sergeant who hosts the gathering, shouts to his departing guests. His son Aaron, Kindred’s best friend and former teammate at Wagner High School in San Antonio, nods in agreement.

“The kid has always been hungry,” the elder Warren continues. “Some team will take him. Soon.”

But not this night.

...

On Saturday, minutes before the draft is scheduled to kick off at 11 a.m., Derrick Kindred reports that he got 3 ½ hours of sleep. It wasn’t nerves, he insists. It was late night video games with his brother and early morning cooking with his mother for the long-planned final day draft party.

“I’m not nervous,” he declares, hoping to convince himself.

On the kitchen table someone has placed a vanilla cake, Kindred’s favorite, with green frosting that remotely resembles a football field.

“Congratulations, Derrick,” it screams through the cellophane from inside a box that is to remain unopened until Kindred is drafted.

Today, the garage is reserved for smokers and pacers, leaving the 70-inch television in the family room as the center of attention for those with the patience to sit.

Kindred again pays the TV no mind. Today’s distraction is ferrying a steady stream of food trays from cars to the kitchen. Brisket. Wings. Salads. Drinks. He handles them all. The number of well-wishers has grown by a dozen.

Conveniently, Cleveland has the first two picks of the fourth round. This could be quick. The Browns take a linebacker but trade away their next selection. Fourteen picks later, they add a wide receiver.

Kindred believes his fourth-round hopes have been dashed. His stomach is growling. He hasn’t touched the food. He’s unaware that the Browns have added one last fourth-round pick.

Vernon Bryant | Staff Photographer

His cellphone needs charging. He places it on a chair next to his grandfather and, as is his habit, puts it on silent. He ambles off to the kitchen and loads a plate with nacho chips.

Minutes later, the phone vibrates. Kindred, engaged in conversation, doesn’t notice. Second later, it vibrates again. Again it goes unanswered.

The caller is persistent. After the phone vibrates a third time, Kindred notices at last.

“Uh oh,” he tells a cousin, Joevon Berry. He reaches for the phone but fumbles it. The number on the screen isn’t familiar. His index finger shakes as he tries to push the ‘dial’ icon.

“Yes sir,” he says into the phone as his eyes dart around the room, looking for quiet refuge. With everyone staring at him, the room turns eerily silent.

Kindred finds his place of relative solitude in the darkness of a home theater. The “yes sirs” come in rapid fire.

...

In a faraway NFL draft room, a phone is being passed from front office executive to head coach to defensive coordinator.

Kindred doesn’t catch any names. All he knows is that he talked to three men. But he distinctly remembers the name of their team.

As he clicks off his cell, a broad smile crosses his face. And then come the tears.

Seconds later, at 12:37 p.m., the crawl on the television screen proclaims that the Cleveland Browns used the 31st pick of the fourth round, and the 129th overall, to select Derrick Kindred, safety, TCU.

The room erupts.

“Move over, LeBron James,” someone shouts.

...

Derrick Kindred’s mother is a hospital technician. His father drives a truck. Their homes weren’t big enough to accommodate the expected well-wishers, which is why a friend hosted the draft party.

Now, the Browns will pay Kindred almost $1 million, counting his signing bonus and his expected first-year salary.

When Casterline told him what he’d be making – two days after the draft -- Kindred was stunned. He had never asked about the money.